And Lo, They Beat Again, These Unscrupulous Hearts
by Saucery
Summary: A "Pride and Prejudice" crossover! Spock is Mr. Darcy. Kirk is Elizabeth Bennet. Austen is turning in her grave.
1. Chapter 1

Notes:

I shall endeavor to follow the original text with some verity, although that might, of course, result in frank plagiarism.

Oh, well.

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><p><strong>AND LO, THEY BEAT AGAIN, THESE UNSCRUPULOUS HEARTS<strong>

**- I -**

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><p>It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single Vulcan in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a mate. It is the nature of Vulcans; they are a thoughtful and logical species, and, benefiting from the merits of those qualities, are wise in the ways of finding (and keeping) a mate. While certain sensational rumors are whispered in whisky-soaked parlors and places of disrepute - from smirking, salacious mouth to eager, blushing ear - no person of prestige acknowledges them, for, Pon Farr or not, it is to the marriage of minds, and not of baser instincts, that the Vulcans dedicate themselves.<p>

However little known the feelings or views of such a Vulcan may be on his first entering a galaxy, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding planets, that he is considered as the rightful property of some one or other of their offspring. The Vulcan Empire has only recently deigned to join the United Federation of Planets, and no unmated resident of Earth - or its adjutant colonies - is immune to fancies of being carried away by a Vulcan prince, or of being raised to the very heights of untrammeled romance by a bond that goes beyond the flesh - a bond of fate, of the spirit, of the mind.

The remarkable tale of Ambassador Sarek and his Human mate, Amanda Grayson, has done more to stir the imaginations of breathless debutantes than the staid (and, some might say, stilted) renditions of Vulcan culture put forth by the Vulcan High Command. After some debate, it seems that the Vulcan High Command has determined not to discourage such illogical fixations. (Diplomacy, as Admiral Christopher Pike was once said to have wryly noted, is the art of tolerating - and, if they prove useful, encouraging - the misconceptions of others.)

It was in the midst of this fervent excitement that Ambassador Sarek's two sons, Spock and Sybok, arrived at Netherstar Park. While Sybok lived a life of leisure funded by astute - and eminently logical - business investments, his younger brother, Spock, was a sterner creature, a reticent and somewhat asocial disciple of science.

Little did they know that, despite their very different natures, they would both find a mate before the summer had passed.

While it was in neither of their plans, it was certainly what Winona Kirk, a lady of ordinary means but extraordinary social knowledge, hoped for.

"My dear Mr. Kirk,'' said his lady to him one day, "have you heard that Netherstar Park is let at last?''

Mr. Kirk replied that he had not.

"But it is,'' returned she, "for Mrs. Corax has just been here, and she told me all about it.''

Mr. Kirk made no answer.

"Do not you want to know who has taken it?'' cried his wife impatiently.

"_You_ want to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing it.''

This was invitation enough.

"Why, my dear, you must know, Mrs. Corax says that Netherstar is taken by a young nobleman of large fortune from the north of Vulcan; that he came down on Monday in an exceedingly fine shuttle to see the place, and was so much delighted with it that he agreed with Mr. Mori immediately; that he is to take possession before Michaelmas, and some of his servants are to be in the house by the end of next week.''

"What is his name?''

"Sybok.''

"Is he married or single?''

"Oh! Single, my dear, to be sure! A single man of large fortune; four or five thousand a year. What a fine thing for our boys!''

"How so? How can it affect them?''

"My dear Mr. Kirk,'' replied his wife, "how can you be so tiresome? You must know that I am thinking of his marrying one of them.''

"Is that his design in settling here?''

"Design! Nonsense, how can you talk so! But it is very likely that he _may_ fall in love with one of them, and therefore you must visit him as soon as he comes.''

"I see no occasion for that. You and the boys may go, or you may send them by themselves, which perhaps will be still better; for, as you are as handsome as any of them, Mr. Sybok might like you the best of the party.''

"My dear, you flatter me. I certainly _have_ had my share of beauty, but I do not pretend to be anything extraordinary now. When a woman has two grown sons golden of heart and complexion, she ought to give over thinking of her own beauty.''

"In such cases, a woman has not often much beauty to think of.''

"But, my dear, you must indeed go and see Mr. Sybok when he comes into the neighborhood.''

"It is more than I engage for, I assure you.''

"But consider your sons. Only think what an establishment it would be for one of them. Sir Chekov and Lady Uhura are determined to go, merely on that account, for in general, you know they visit no newcomers. Indeed you must go, for it will be impossible for us to visit him, if you do not.''

"You are over-scrupulous, surely. I dare say Mr. Sybok will be very glad to see you; and I will send a few lines by you to assure him of my hearty consent to his marrying which ever he chooses of the boys; though I must throw in a good word for my little Jimmy.''

"I desire you will do no such thing. Jim is not a bit better than Sam; and I am sure he is not half so well-mannered, nor half so good-humored. But you are always giving _him_ the preference.''

"They have none of them much to recommend them,'' replied he. "They are all silly and ignorant like other boys; but Jimmy has something more of quickness than his brother.''

"Mr. Kirk, how can you abuse your own children in such a way? You take delight in vexing me. You have no compassion on my poor nerves.''

"You mistake me, my dear. I have a high respect for your nerves. They are my old friends. I have heard you mention them with consideration these twenty years at least.''

"Ah! You do not know what I suffer.''

"But I hope you will get over it, and live to see many young Vulcans of four thousand a year come into the neighborhood.''

"It will be no use to us if twenty such should come, since you will not visit them.''

"Depend upon it, my dear, that when there are twenty I will visit them all.''

Mr. Kirk was so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humor, reserve, and caprice, that the experience of three and twenty years had been insufficient to make his wife understand his character. _Her_ mind was less difficult to develop. She was a woman of strong inclinations, little caution, and uncertain temper. When she was discontented, she fancied herself bilious. The business of her life was to get her boys married, and married well; its solace was visiting and news.

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><p><strong>to be continued.<strong>  
>Please review!<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

**AND LO, THEY BEAT AGAIN, THESE UNSCRUPULOUS HEARTS**

**- II -**

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><p>Jim Kirk was well aware that his mother wanted him married; he was not in the least that way inclined. Marriage, to him, meant stultification - a continuous, endless compromise on the most essential of freedoms. The freedom to hurtle down the deserted outer roads on a shuttle-bike built to his very own specifications, and to stagger home bruised and bleeding and with a hundred more specifications in mind. The freedom to gad about town with Bones in tow, kissing the prettiest girls and convincing the most charming bellboys that a quick, breathless fumble in a coatroom was a capital idea. The freedom to spend a night doing nothing but stargazing, and a day doing nothing but stretching out beneath a giant carburetor and the near-molten heat of the sun.<p>

His mother called it time-wasting; he called it time-_making_. Those apparently idle hours were often the source of his greatest inspirations, and led to him spending the subsequent days in front of his blueprints, or in front of his computer, running simulations and writing papers and generally (as Sam put it) making a clod of himself. No gentleman or lady of reputable standing would marry such a peculiar fellow, such a distracted and often depraved degenerate - and while he was right, Jim had no interest in marriage, in any case.

Sam could keep his epithets to himself.

And thus, Jim had every plan to absent himself from any social event that the new arrivals to Netherstar Park might be attending, since, well, even if _Jim_ didn't intend to wed, he did have a face entirely capable of launching a thousand ships - courtships, even - and he had no illusions whatsoever that people of any species, including Vulcans, were capable of resisting him.

Hubris? Surely not. It wasn't hubris if it was _fact_. The pretty girls and the bellboys could attest to it. In _lurid_ detail.

Mrs. Kirk, of course, was having none of it.

She sat on the chaise longue with the brocaded sleeve of Jim's finest frock coat over her lap, mending a tear that had more to do with clandestine trysts engaged in with a noble's daughter than any respectable misadventure.

Jim happened upon her in that state, with a needle in one hand and a thread held fast between her teeth, and was, for a moment, so flabbergasted that he forgot to turn around and pretend not to have seen anything.

Her eyes glinted at him. "I hope Mr. Sybok will like it, Jimmy."

"We are not in a way to know what Mr. Sybok likes," Jim returned, resentfully, "since we are not to visit. _I_ am not to visit."

"But you forget, child, that I hold the purse-strings of this house - "

" - and you wear the britches, too," Jim muttered.

"You forget that _I hold the purse-strings of this house_, and so long as you are in it, you are obliged to follow my edicts - or risk losing the very allowance that permits you to indulge in your bizarre experiments and various devilries."

Devilries? Plural? There had only been _one_ satanic rite, and even that, only because it was fueled by opium and absinthe and the laughter of several very lovely, very _unclad_ girls…

"Your father thinks it a most excellent idea, as well."

"My father," said Jim, "was likely hounded into revising his personal definition of the word, 'excellent'."

"I do not _hound_ anyone, Jimmy, don't be ridiculous."

Jim raised his eyebrows. And gestured to himself.

"This," said Mrs. Kirk, "is _mothering_. A distinctly different pursuit."

"I believe you have just admitted that it is a _pursuit_. I am pursued. Thus, I am very much the helpless fox, and you, Mother, are the _hound_. The cruel, callous - "

"Yes, yes, I must appear very carnivorous to you, little doe." Her mouth twitched. "Therefore, I bid you admit your defenselessness, and obey the missives of this hound's teeth."

"Will they close about my neck, if I do not go?"

"If you do not go," she replied, "they will."

Jim lapsed into a sulking silence.

"Don't worry, dear. He _may_ not like you."

An incredulous snort escaped him before he could stop it.

"Your high opinion of yourself is, perhaps, explicable, Jimmy, but it shall net you more trouble than it is worth."

"Spare me your words of dubious wisdom, Mother. When is this hellish event that I must attend in glittering finery?"

"To-morrow fortnight."

"Wonderful."

"A full week in advance of Lady Uhura's return to our town! We shall have the advantage of her!"

Jim blinked. "Nyota has her sights set on the Vulcans?" _Nyota?_ She disdained romance. Well, she disdained _him_. And that was a rare enough event - _no one_ denied Jim - to make an impression upon his psyche as a matter of some insult. And also, as it happened, of some intrigue.

"How many times," said Mrs. Kirk, "must I ask you not to address her so familiarly? Not only is it unseemly in society, but she, herself, does not desire it."

"Oh, she will," said Jim, a steely glint of his own entering his eyes. He _was_ his mother's son. "If I must attend this ball, I shall see for myself these hopeless sods that Nyota deems so estimable."

The lady gasped, quite horrified by her son's language. "Do _not_ insult our hosts, Jim."

"Hosts? They would be my hosts if I were their guest. As it stands, Mother, I am attending under duress, and am more akin to their prisoner."

"Prisoners must be especially deferential," said his mother, sweetly. "Or hadn't you heard?"

Jim grunted.

"There!" Mrs. Kirk shook out the frock coat, apparently done mending it. Certainly, the tear was quite invisible. Had Jim not _very_ vivid memories of the stolen kiss upon a balcony that had caused it, he wouldn't have been able to place it, at all. "All done! Mr. Sybok will be overcome!"

"I am sick of Mr. Sybok," declared Jim, feeling, all of a sudden, quite literally sick, indeed. He'd have to waste an entire evening on an unwanted social call, where he would, additionally, be expected to attempt something resembling civil conversation with a dry, logic-maddened stick in the mud. _Two_ sticks in the mud. Sybok did have a brother, after all.

"I am sorry to hear _that_, my love. But as your father has actually paid the visit and accepted the invitation; we cannot escape the acquaintance, now."

"Escape it? Your intention was ever to doggedly pursue it. Goddess of the _hunt_ that you are."

"That I am," his mother agreed, "but you must thank your father, too. It is only his genuine affection for you and for Sam, and his desire to see you both settled, that has led him to follow my advice."

Advice? It was _tyranny_. Perhaps Jim's expression said so, for the good lady quirked a smile.

"At our time of life it is not so pleasant, I can tell you, to be making new acquaintances every day; but for your sakes, we would do anything. Jimmy, my love, though you _are_ the youngest, I dare say Mr. Sybok will dance with you at the ball."

"How positively encouraging," Jim remarked, a jot more sharply than was justified. "I only hope that Vulcans can, in fact, dance."

"Oh, they _can_," insisted Mrs. Kirk, and the rest of the evening was spent in conjecturing the how and why of Vulcan mating rituals, and what either Jim or Sam could expect should their efforts come to fruition.

Jim had no interest in those rituals, or in their fruition, but once Sam returned from his shipyard and Father from his office, the conversation became, alas, even more difficult to escape.

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><p><strong>to be continued.<strong>  
>Please review!<p> 


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